Out of Eden
by Delwyn
Summary: Sam knew it was a bad idea to take the hunt in Palo Alto. Little did he know that a teacher’s curiosity would lead to a very dangerous situation. Not to mention that pesky PI who was apparently determined to get himself killed.
1. Prologue

Back again with my second story! I'm having a blast writing it. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I do.

The title and lyrics are from 'Long road out of Eden' by The Eagles. I don't own anything from supernatural or the song.

Out of Eden

_Back home I was so certain, the path was very clear._

_But now I have to wonder, what are we doing here?_

_I'm not counting on tomorrow and I can't tell wrong from right._

_But I'd give anything to be there in your arms tonight._

Prologue

Professor Francis stared at the essay in his hands without really seeing it. He had read it many times over the past few years. It was good, really good. Exceptional. That was the reason he had kept it for so long. But not the only reason.

It wasn't the contents of the essay that bothered him. It was the name on top of the page.

Sam Winchester.

"Hey, Robert?"

The man on the other side of the room looked up. "Yeah?"

"Have you ever had a Sam Winchester in your class? Real tall kid, it would have been about four years ago."

Professor Robert Williams shrugged. "I'd have to look it up."

"Nah, never mind. You'd remember him."

"How's that?"

"Well," Professor Francis hesitated. "The kid was a genius. It's a simple as that. One of the most observant students I have ever had. His LSAT was nearly of the charts."

Professor Williams dropped a heavy book on his desk with a bang. "Never thought I'd hear you sing praise to a student. What's he doing now?"

"That's the thing. I have no idea. I'm pretty sure he had an interview here. He had that full ride practically in the bag. I was really looking forward to getting him in my class again, but…"

"But what?"

"I've never seen him again."

Professor Williams shrugged. "So, he probably went somewhere else. If he is as good as you say he is, any University would accept him."

"Yeah, maybe." Professor Francis looked at the essay again. "Hey Rob? That PI friend of yours, is he still in town?"

* * *

"Thanks for coming, Mr..."

"Fielding. Call me Sid." The PI smiled. He was in his late thirties, with curly brown hair and a disarming smile. He was short and very slender, unremarkable in practically every way. Only his pristine British accent made him stand out.

Professor Francis looked at him thoughtfully. This really wasn't what he had expected. Sid smiled in amusement. "I can get the job done, if that's what your wondering."

Professor Francis raised his eyebrows. "How…"

"It's what I do. Robert said you had a job for me?"

"Eh… yeah. I need you to find a former student for me. Sam Winchester."

Sid pulled out a small notepad and a pen. "Winchester? It's an unusual name. Why do you want me to look for him?"

"He was in my class a little over four years ago. Great student, very smart. I know he applied for law school here, but I've never heard from him again. I haven't found anything about him going to a different university. I just want to know what happened to him.

"Just to… satisfy your curiosity?"

"Yes."

The PI studied him for a few seconds. Professor Francis had the uncomfortable feeling the man was reading his mind.

"Why would you go through all that trouble and expense to find a random student?"

Professor Francis pulled the essay from his bag and pushed it across the table.

"He left this. Never picked it up. That's not like him at all."

"You're worried."

"Maybe," Professor Francis hesitated. "I don't know what to think."

Sid looked down at the essay. "And you've kept this for all these years?"

"Read it, you'll see why."


	2. Poking a sleeping bear

Poking a sleeping bear

"I have to say, you have given me one hell of a case."

Professor Francis took a sip from his coffee. "How so?"

Sid pulled a think file from his briefcase. "Here you go. The life of Samuel Winchester. I had some trouble digging all this up, but I have a friend who has a friend in the FBI and he got me most of this."

Professor Francis nearly choked on his coffee. "FBI? And they just gave you the file?"

"Not the entire thing, just bits and pieces. The guy figured it could do no harm, because Sam Winchester is dead."

Professor Francis inhaled sharply. "Dead?"

"Yes. He died in early 2008 when a police station exploded."

"What was he doing there? Was he a defence lawyer or something?"

Sid shook his head. "Not quite. But let me start at the beginning, alright?" He looked down at the file. "Samuel Winchester, born may 2nd 1983 to John and Mary Winchester in Lawrence, Kansas. He had one older brother named Dean, who also died in the explosion. When he was six months old, there was a fire in his house and Mary Winchester died. A few weeks after that, John Winchester and his two boys disappeared."

Professor Johnson leaned forward across the table. "How is that possible?"

"There was a police investigation. Official verdict was that John was mentally unstable and that he had taken his boys and left."

Sid flicked through the file. "Sam didn't really enjoy a regular education. He never attended the same school for more than a few months at a time. Still, he was a straight A student. How he pulled that of is beyond me. His father dragged his boys across the country, staying in motels and cheap apartments. As far as I can tell he didn't have a job, but he was accused of credit card fraud several times. That was probably his only source of income."

"And CPS never put a stop to this?"

"The guy covered his tracks. He was never in one place long enough to attract the attention of the authorities. Sam got himself a full ride to Stanford and enrolled here when he was eighteen. He was basically a model student, but you probably know that. He lived just a few blocks from here with a Jessica Moore. He had a lot of friends, was generally well liked, but he refused to talk about his family."

"I can see why."

"Definitely. Nearly five years ago, the night before his Law school interview, there was a fire in his apartment and Jessica Moore died. He never showed up for the interview. He left town to go on a road trip with his brother. Friends say he kept in touch for a while, but after a few months he stopped responding to e-mails and phone calls. He just dropped of the radar."

Sid turned another page. "Things get very fuzzy after that. The FBI gave me some details, but not nearly everything. It doesn't help that Sam and his brother have about a dozen aliases each. They apparently started travelling across the country together, committing crimes wherever they went. His brother was suspected of murder and presumed dead for a while, until he was arrested again about a year later, again on suspicion of murder. Sam was brought in as an accomplice, but they managed to Houdini their way out of that situation somehow and went on with their business. Breaking and entering, kidnapping, credit card fraud, the list goes on and on. You name it, these guys did it. Strangest of all? Grave desecration. Apparently, these two like to dig up coffins and set them on fire."

"That is disgusting."

"Couldn't agree more. A few months later they were involved in a high profile bank robbery in Milwaukee. Details aren't very clear, but from what I heard they killed several hostages and then slipped out right under the noses of the FBI. They took out two guys from SWAT and stole their clothes to sneak out. And get this, not a cent was stolen from that bank."

Professor Francis shook his head. "Then what was the point of the whole thing?"

"Not a clue. I got a feeling there is more going on here, but the feds won't give me any more than this." Sid looked down at the file. "They were arrested again for breaking and entering and spent a couple of days in prison before they wiggled their way out again. I swear, these guys are as slippery as a bar of soap in the bathtub. The feds were furious of course, but despite their best efforts the Winchesters were nowhere to be found. By this time, they were high on the most wanted list. Early 2008 they were arrested again and killed when the police station exploded. Gas leak they say."

He closed the file and pushed it across the table. "And that's it. The life and death of Sam Winchester."

"Wow." Professor Francis leaned back in his chair. "He was such a nice kid."

The PI smiled faintly. "The facts say otherwise unfortunately." He hesitated. "Though I have to say that it doesn't really add up."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't quite put my finger on it. But something feels off about the whole thing. Call it instinct." He shrugged. "But it doesn't really matter I suppose. Sam Winchester went up in flames."

"Yeah, I suppose." Professor Francis stood up. "Thanks Sid, you did a great job."

"Glad I could help. I'll be in town for a few months before I go back to the UK. Maybe I'll see you around."

The two men shook hands and left the small diner, their thoughts on the same person.

Sam Winchester.

* * *

Three weeks later Professor Francis practically ran to the same diner. The PI was already waiting for him.

"What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Maybe I have," said Professor Francis in a strained voice. "I saw Sam Winchester."


	3. Once a home

Thank you Trina, for your wonderful review! I can't thank you personally, so I'll just do it like this. You compliments mean a lot to me, especially since English is not my native language. It's good to hear I can write a convincing story none the less.

Something I forgot to mention before, I don't have a Beta. If anyone is interested in lending a hand…

_Once a home_

"Dean, I really don't think this is a good idea."

"Yeah, I heard you the first ten times. Now will you hurry up?"

Sam stuffed his sparse belongings into his duffle.

"Someone could recognise me."

Dean threw his own duffle over his shoulder. "Don't give yourself too much credit. How long 's it been? Four years?"

"Yeah, but still…"

"If they know you, we'll think of something. We always do. Why is it such a problem all of a sudden?"

Sam didn't say anything. He stared down at his duffle, his eyes full of thoughts that Dean couldn't read.

"Sam, you know we have to do this, right? You heard Bobby, he can't find anyone else to take it."

"I know," Sam whispered. "It's just…" he took a deep breath. "It brings back a lot of memories."

"I know, Sam." Dean's voice was softer, but still determined. "But we have to check this out, you know that."

Sam looked up. "Yeah, you're right." He picked up his duffle. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

Sam stared at the sign through the windshield. Palo Alto…

So many memories were buried here. So many tears, so many regrets. Too many. He didn't have much left from those days. It had all gone up in flames. Literally. Two things he still kept in his wallet. A photograph of Jessica in a black dress at her mother's birthday. She was holding a glass of wine, smiling at someone unseen. And hidden in a small compartment, folded up in a piece of paper, was a diamond engagement ring. He had vaguely intended to sell it one day, but he couldn't do it. That ring was a symbol of all he had lost. He couldn't let it go that easily.

The Impala rumbled through the familiar streets. This had been home once. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, but he didn't look up. This town wasn't home anymore. That life wasn't his anymore. He could never go back to that. He knew it and he had accepted it a long time ago. That didn't mean there were no regrets.

Dean looked at his brother from the corner of his eye. Taking this case was a terrible idea an he knew it. But nobody else wanted to take it and they couldn't just let people die. There was plenty of stuff going around to keep hunters busy, with the apocalypse and all that, and nobody was willing to take this one.

Still, it was a bad idea. Sam was staring out of the window, apparently lost in his memories. Dean cleared his throat. "Could you give me the details again?"

"Mmm… what? Oh yeah…"

Sam grabbed the thin file from the dashboard.

"First victim was a student named Jeremy Greene. He was two weeks ago found in an empty office on the second floor of the library. He had a broken neck and rope marks consistent with hanging, but no rope was found anywhere around. There was nothing he could have been hung from either. Second victim was three days later, a Professor Robert Williams. Same room, same cause of death."

"Anything they had in common?"

"Not that I can tell. Greene never took any classes with Professor Williams. I couldn't find anything to suggest they knew each other."

"Did you find anything about the building?"

"The library is new. It was officially opened seven years ago." Sam paused and stared ahead.

Dean looked at him from the corner of his eye. "What?"

"Nothing. I just…" Sam smiled sadly. "I went to that opening with Jess. We…" He took a deep breath and picked up the file again. " The office was used by a teacher until he resigned six months ago. Nothing strange has ever happened there as far as I can tell."

"So basically we don't have anything."

"Basically, yeah."

"You could have just said so."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You asked for details."

"Yeah, but you don't have any."

"Shut up."

Sam turned away to stare out of the window. Dean looked at the back of his head. He knew what this was doing to his brother. He also knew that Sam would never say it. He would crawl away into his own little shell until they left Palo Alto. He sighed and turned his eyes to the road again. Better get this done as quickly as possible.

Sam looked out of the window at the familiar streets. There were many places he recognised and they all reminded him of _her._ Since Lucifer had appeared to him looking like her, the memories were not the same. Every time he thought of her face, he was reminded of his destiny. A destiny he was desperate to avoid, but that seemed to lurk around every corner. But here… Here her memory was untainted. Every memory. Her face, her smile, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating, her blood, the fire that took her away. It had all happened here. And now _he _was here. The world outside became a blur. He wiped his eyes, not noticing the elderly gentleman staring after the Impala like he had seen a ghost.

* * *

"Are you _sure?"_

"Yes, I'm sure!" Professor Francis tried to stop his hands from trembling. "He was in a car that drove past me. It was him, no doubt about it."

Sid pulled the Winchester file from his briefcase. "What kind of car was it?"

"Some big classic. It was black, a Chevrolet I think."

Sid pulled a photograph from the file. "This it?"

"Yes, that's it!"

The PI slid the photograph back into the file, still looking calm and composed. "Was he driving?"

"No, he wasn't. He was in the passenger seat."

Sid leaned back in his chair. "Well I'll be damned."

"What?"

"That car wasn't Sam's. It belonged to his brother." He looked up. "Did you get a look at the driver?"

"Not really, I…" Professor Francis ran his fingers through his thinning hair and tried to organise his thoughts. "He… he was wearing sunglasses. That is about all I saw."

Sid flicked through the file and pulled out another photograph. "This him?"

Professor Francis took the picture from him and studied it carefully. "It could be. I really didn't get a good look."

The PI put the photograph back into the file. "Well, I'll say it again. This is one hell of a case you have given me."

"What do we do now? Do we call the police?"

Sid shook his head. "Not yet. They are not exactly going to believe you saw a dead man. I'll see if I can find them. I'll try to take a picture, maybe even get his prints and see if I can find out if that driver is Dean Winchester."

Professor Francis raised his eyebrows. "Can you do that?"

The PI smiled. "It's my job." He shook his head. "Though I have to say this is a first, chasing after two dead guys."


	4. The Shadow

Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Believe it or not, I actually dreamt about this story last night… The final bit of the chapter sprouted from my sleeping head. Just goes to show how obsessed I am with this.

_The Shadow_

"Please tell me you found something."

Sam shook his head. "Sorry. The library looks clean. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened there."

Dean fell down on the hard bed. "Except a bunch of people being hung without a rope."

"Yeah, except for that. I take it you got nothing either?"

"Nope. The ground was never used for anything dodgy as far as I can tell."

Sam flicked through the papers on the table. "There is something. The guy who used to work in that office, a professor Melvin Jennings, didn't quit. He was fired for plagiarism. He moved away, but I can't find a new address."

"He still alive?"

"I don't know actually. I can't find anything on him since he left Palo Alto. Not even a speeding ticket."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "He could have done something to the place. A curse maybe?"

"Could be. He doesn't really seem the type, but you can never rule it out."

"So it could be a curse, could be something else entirely."

"Great," muttered Sam. "That means we have to go in practically blind."

"Yep," Dean looked at his watch. "Library is still open."

Sam shook his head. "Dean, we should go tonight."

"Why?"

"I…eh…I used to be in there practically everyday. People there know me. They will start asking questions…" _And I can't deal with that right now._

Dean paused for a second. The words Sam hadn't spoken were still clear as day. The library would be a lot more dangerous a night, not to mention locks and alarm systems. But one look at Sam's pleading eyes made him bite back a sharp reply.

"Fine. You keep looking for our evil professor, I'll get us some dinner."

Dean picked up his jacket. He had dragged Sam back to Palo Alto. No need to make this any harder on his brother than it already was.

* * *

"It's definitely Dean Winchester."

Professor Francis gripped his phone tightly. "You're sure?"

"Yes. I saw him at a diner. Couldn't get a picture of him though, couldn't get close enough. The guy was careful. Kept a close eye on his environment."

"What about Sam?"

"He wasn't there. But I know where they are staying. I'm outside the motel right now.:

"Sid? Be careful, alright?"

"Sure thing."

Professor Francis put his phone down and looked at the thick file on the desk in front of him.

Sam Winchester… He shook his head. Who knew the kid would turn out like that?

* * *

Sam slung the weapons bag over his shoulder. "Let's get this over with."

"Never thought you'd hate going to a library."

Dean could almost feel the glare his brother threw at him. He smiled faintly. Keep Sam annoyed, keep him busy. Anything to keep his mind out of the past.

He pulled the door open and inhaled the fresh air outside. Somehow, these cheap motel rooms always smelled the same. There was always stale cigarette smoke, cheap detergent and some other things he probably didn't really want to know about. To other people it was disgusting. To him it was a place to sleep. That didn't mean he had to like it.  
He looked at Sam from the corner of his eye. Sam had wanted to escape this. And he had. But the whole thing had gone up in flames together with the love of his life and Dean knew his brother had never forgiven himself for it. Dragging Sam back here? It was almost cruel.

* * *

Sam carefully looked over his shoulder. It was still there.

"What is it?" Dean said calmly.

"We're being followed. Green saloon, three cars back."

Dean looked in the rearview mirror. "You mean that ugly-ass Japanese piece of crap?"

"Yep," Sam took another look over his shoulder. "I think it's a rental."

"And why would you think that?"

Sam grinned. "Do you honestly think someone would willingly drive a car like that?"

Dean threw him an amused look. "Point taken." He slowed down and took a right turn. "Only one way to find out."

Sam quickly checked his phone. "I'll call you in ten."

"Make it five, you're getting a little slow."

Sam just rolled his eyes and looked over his shoulder again. "He's keeping his distance. Guy knows what he's doing."

Dean pulled the car over without another word. Sam stepped out onto the sidewalk and made a show of waving at his brother when he drove away. The green car slowly crept by, the driver carefully looking up and down the street like he was lost. He had curly brownish hair and he looked almost ridiculously short in the big car. Sam carefully looked at the back of the car as it drove by. The sticker was filthy, but the name of the rental company was till clearly visible.

Sam smiled to himself. The guy was careful, but not careful enough. He had already pulled his phone from his pocket to call the rental company, when the green car pulled over. The driver killed the engine and opened the door.

_Shit._

Sam turned around and started walking down the street as casually as he could.

_He wasn't following us. He was following me._

* * *

Dean had barely turned the corner when he realized the green car was no longer behind him. He already had his phone in his hand when it rang.

"Guy got out of his car. He is following me." Sam sounded calm and controlled, not a shadow of fear in his voice.

"You know who it is?"

"I've never seen him before. He's definitely done this before. He knows what he is doing."  
Dean quickly looked at his watch. "Can you get rid of him?"

"Not a problem. I'll ditch this dude and I'll meet you at the library."

Dean hesitated. He was a little reluctant to leave Sam alone with some psycho on his tail, but his brother could hold his own. He knew that better than anyone else. "Alright. If I haven't heard from you in half an hour I'll come looking for you."

"Yes mom."

"Shut up."

Dean hung up and shook his head. He wanted to keep Sam busy, but this wasn't really what he had in mind.

* * *

Sid Fielding stuffed his hands in his pockets and carefully looked at Sam Winchester on the other side of the street. The guy was talking on his phone and walking along like he didn't have a care in the world. The PI took a moment to light a cigarette, letting himself fall behind a little more. Sam was probably just as careful as his brother, he'd better keep his distance. And beside that, the guy was huge. Not just tall, but heavy with muscle. Someone to stay away from.

Sid smiled to himself. When the professor had asked him to look for a former student, he had expected a simple case. The kind that paid the bills. He never suspected it could become the case of his life.

He looked across the street again. Sam had ended the call. He had his hands in his pockets and walked unhurriedly down the street. There was another reason to stick to these guys like a shadow. The Winchesters showing up just when two people were killed in the library couldn't possibly be a coincidence. His face darkened. If they had anything to do with Robert's death, anything at all…

His gun felt heavy beneath his jacket. While these two were in town he wouldn't go anywhere without it. He was little surprised Professor Francis hadn't connected Sam Winchester with the death of their mutual friend. But then again, he was a teacher, not a detective. He had no experience in these matters. Sid on the other hand, had more experience than he wanted to have. He finished his cigarette, threw it away and kept walking, his eyes darting across the street.

Sam Winchester turned a corner and disappeared from view. He quickly crossed the street and slowed his steps down before turning the corner himself. He fished out another cigarette. This case was turning him into a chain smoker. He flicked on his lighter and looked around. The flame froze halfway. Sam Winchester was nowhere to be seen.

_Crap._

He definitely had to be more careful around these two.

* * *

Funny detail: The 'ugly-ass Japanese piece of crap' is based on my own car…


	5. The hangman and the sneak

It must be karma… I backed up my 'ugly-ass Japanese piece of crap' into a tree yesterday. I think Dean would approve.

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing! Now if only writing would pay for my new bumper…

* * *

_The hangman and the sneak_

Sam quickly crossed the street to the entrance of the library. Dean was already there, leaning on his car. "Did you ditch him?"

"Yeah, it wasn't hard. We should go to the rental company tomorrow, figure out who he is."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. But right now we have to check out the killer library."

He unlocked the trunk of the car. Sam picked up a shotgun and started filling his pockets with salt rounds. "What do we do if it's a curse?"

"Besides run like hell?" Dean shrugged. "No idea. You don't break a curse, you stay out of it's way."

"Yeah, that's very convenient when it's in a crowded library."

"That is a contradiction, Sam, a crowded library." Dean took his own shotgun and started loading it with practiced fingers. "Maybe if we find the Professor we can figure out what he did and how to stop it."

"If it was the Professor."

"We don't really have any other options. We should find the guy. At least he can tell us if anything ever happened in his office while he was there." Dean closed the trunk and fished his lock-pick from his pocket. "Come on, see if anybody's home."

It took less than a minute to disable the alarm. When the door swung open, Sam clicked on his flashlight and stepped inside. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he inhaled the familiar smell. Here in the entrance hall it smelled like clean floors and computers and _people._ On the upper floors it smelled like old books and dust. He had always liked to study in the classical languages department. It was always quiet there. And somehow it felt comforting to be surrounded by pages and pages of Latin.

Dean grabbed his elbow. "Are you coming or what?"

Sam quickly followed his brother up the stairs, EMF meter in his hand. It wasn't hard to find the right office. It was sealed with what appeared to be at least a mile of police tape. Dean carefully cut through it and carefully pushed the door open.

The office seemed perfectly ordinary. A modern desk with a swiveling chair behind it, a plain grey floor and several filing cabinets against the walls. Nothing unusual.

Except for the EMF that started blearing loudly in Sam's hand.

"Will you look at that," muttered Dean. "Maybe it isn't a curse."

Sam slowly stepped inside, his shotgun ready. Nothing happened. Everything was quiet, except for the EMF that started wailing even louder.

Suddenly, Dean grabbed his arm. "Someone's coming."

* * *

Sid smiled to himself. That car was a little too conspicuous. Why they held on to it was anybody's guess. For two guys with this much experience it was really rather stupid. The black muscle car was gleaming under the streetlights in front of the library. It was the first place he had gone to after he had lost Sam. And now all his suspicions were confirmed. Not that there really was any doubt about it. These two were killers. They were cruel, insane, _they dug up graves_ for christ sake. A couple of creative kills was probably their idea of having fun. He stepped out of the green rental car and closed the door. Time to put an end to this. They were going to pay for what they had done to Robert.

Getting into the library was the easy part. They had had done a very thorough job of demolishing the alarm. The locks looked undamaged. Sid wasn't really surprised. With the right tools you could open nearly every door without leaving a trace. He had a rather impressive set of lock picks in his pocket at all times. Tools of the trade.

He carefully opened the door a little further and slipped inside. When he could not be seen from the street anymore, he drew his gun. It was cold and heavy in his hand. Slowly he started walking up the stairs, careful not to make a sound. The plan was simple. Blow out their kneecaps and call in the feds. Sid was a lot of things, but he was no killer. He had no intention of becoming one. More importantly, he knew he would hesitate before taking the shot. His targets had killed before. They would not hesitate. His conscience would get him killed. Shooting knees on the other hand, was easy as pie. And it hurt like hell.

The plan seemed easy enough. But he knew enough about the Winchesters to know _nothing_ was ever easy around these two.

Carefully, he approached the office. The police tape was cut and the door was slightly ajar. What they wanted in there in the middle of the night was anybody's guess. Sid wasn't sure he'd bother to ask.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself for a second. Then he leaped forward and kicked the door open, his gun raised and ready to shoot.

The office was empty.

_Crap._

He turned around as quickly as he could to face the door again. They couldn't be far. _They know I'm here._

His gun twitched nervously as he backed away from the door. They could show up any second. He felt the metal desk against his legs.

The air around him suddenly grew cold. He shivered, still not taking his eyes of the door. His breath formed a small cloud that obscured his vision. The office suddenly smelled heavy and old, the little light there was growing dim. Sid saw his gun trembling in his hands. _Come on man, pull yourself together…_

Something brushed against his face. He barely had time to look up when it fell around is neck and tightened cruelly. He dropped his gun and clawed at his neck, but there was nothing there. He was yanked away from the desk and fell face down on the grey floor, gasping for air. The noose tightened again. With and incredible force, he was pulled up towards the ceiling, dangling from a rope that wasn't there. His eyesight was blurred, tears streaming down his face.

When someone was dying, he was supposed to see his life flash before his eyes. He was supposed to be afraid, desperate. But his head was oddly empty. Only one word penetrated the fog.

_Crap._

Suddenly, a shot rang out. Sid crashed to the floor. His knees gave away instantly and for the second time in less than a minute he saw the grey floor up close and personal. Strong hands dragged him up and out of the office. The door slammed loudly behind him. He was lowered to the floor again. Agile fingers searched his pockets, then running footsteps, then nothing.

Sid gasped for air and coughed violently. He rolled to his side and curled up, forcing air down into his lungs. Frantically, he wiped the tears from his eyes. He honestly couldn't make sense of what had just happened.

Why on earth was he still alive? They had tried to hang him. Or… someone had.

Without a rope.

It was all a big blur. Nothing of it made sense. But one thing he remembered clearly. _They searched my pockets._

With trembling hands, he felt for his wallet. It was still there. So was his phone. Only his stack of business cards was missing.

And his gun was still in the office.

_Crap._

* * *

"J.S Fielding, Private Investigator."

"A PI?" Dean reached for the business card. "Someone sent a PI after us?"

Sam smiled faintly. "That's a first."

"So now we've got a killer spook _and _Sherlock Holmes to deal with?"

"Looks like," Sam looked at the card again. "Of course the biggest question is, who is he working for?"

"And how did he find us? I thought you got rid of him."

"I did. Maybe he is investigating the killings in the library."

Dean took a deep breath. "In that case he probably thinks we did it."

Sam looked at him from the corner of his eye. "So you think he knows who we are?"

Dean grinned. "Only one way to find out."

* * *

A little sooner than expected. This fic is so much fun to write! Hope you like it.


	6. A glimpse in the mirror

_A glimpse in the mirror_

"What took you so long?"

Dean didn't bother replying to that. The whole day had been frustrating enough without spelling it all out to his brother.

"I found our guy. You're not gonna like it."

He switched his phone to his other hand and picked up a piece of paper from the huge mess on the motel bed. "John Sidney Fielding is a bit of a celebrity in his own country. The UK that is."

He could hear Sam exhale into the phone. "What is he doing on this side of the ocean?"

"Apparently, he worked some very high profile cases a few years back. Got a soap actor thrown in jail for child pornography. A few months after that he exposed a bank manager for dodging taxes and playing dirty on the stock market. Fielding got the whole thing out onto the papers and single-handedly demolished the guys career, reputation and even his marriage. And get this, the bankers' bodyguards got their hands on him just before he got the news out. They worked him over pretty good. Threatened to shoot both his hands of if he went through with it. He got the story out anyway _and_ he got the banker charged for kidnapping and assault. He got a couple hundred grand out of the whole thing."

Sam whistled softly. "Tough guy."

"You said it. He got his face all over the papers in England, so it is practically impossible for him to do any undercover work there. So he came here to annoy us instead."

"Nice. How did you find all this?"

"I've been on the phone with England all day. Called the Police department and a couple of journalists. If I start talking funny, it's their fault."

"You always talk funny, Dean."

"That's because I am funny. How are you doing in that tin can of yours?"

"Bite me."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the tiny car. It really was a tin can. A very cramped, ugly, annoying tin can.

_Note to self, never let Dean get a rental car again. _

"I found something else," his brother said through the phone. "Fielding was good friends with the second victim of our library spook."

Sam nodded out of habit. "That explains his interest in the library."

"But not why he was following us. You find him yet?"

"Yeah, he's staying at the Stanford Terrace Inn, on Stanford avenue. I'm waiting for him outside."

"Call me if he goes anywhere. I'll see if I can find anything else on the ghost."

Sam snapped his phone shut and threw it on the seat beside him. His legs were cramped up from sitting in the tiny car for so long. The seat couldn't go back far enough to drive comfortably. The whole contraption was bright red and carried the label 'sport' on it's bumper for some reason. He looked over at the hideous green saloon parked in front of the hotel. Well, at least the tin can didn't look like someone had puked on it.

_Always be suspicious when Dean chooses the research instead of the stakeout…_

Sam shifted again. If this was going to take much longer they would need a can opener to get him out.

Half an hour later, J.S. Fielding appeared in the door of the hotel across the street. Sam slid down in his seat, swearing when his back objected.

The PI looked nervous, the collar of his jacket turned up high. Without looking around, he rushed over to his car.

Sam quickly pulled out his phone.

"Miss me already?" said Dean cheerfully.

"He's leaving." Sam slid down a little further as the green car pulled out of the parking lot.

"Stick with him. And call me if he gets back, I don't want to be caught with my pant down."

"Keep them on then." Sam snapped his phone shut without waiting for an answer and started his car. The green saloon was already turning the corner. Sam drove after him, staying as far away as he could. The man wasn't a PI for nothing after all.

* * *

Sid pulled up the collar of his jacket a little higher to hide the black marks around his neck. His hand trembled nervously and he nearly dropped his car keys.

_Come on man! _

The more he thought about what had happened in the library, the less of it he understood. And the more it scared him. Someone had pulled him clean of the floor with _an invisible rope_. Someone who had moved through the office without being seen or heard. It made no sense, it was impossible, it was ridiculous, it was…

He took a deep breath. The Winchesters were involved somehow. No idea why or how, but they were. He looked in his rear-view mirror. Speaking of which…

* * *

Dean whistled through his teeth when he entered the hotel room. It wasn't really a room, it was a suite. With clean carpets, heavy curtains and a bed that looked big enough for three people. But what caught his eye was the wall behind the bed. His own face stared back at him from the wall. It was the mug shot taken when they had gone to Deacon's prison to get rid of a ghost. Sam's mug shot hung beside it. He was scowling and looked absolutely _dangerous_.

Dean raised his eyebrows. It was a face he rarely saw these days. And when he saw it, he knew that whoever was at the receiving end better run like hell. He had been the target of that look a few times himself and it had never ended pretty. These days it was reserved for Lucifer and friends. And with reason of course.

Dean carefully studied the rest of the papers taped to the wall. It was an impressive collection. Bits and pieces form police and FBI files, gruesome pictures of their supposed victims and long lists of dates and names. He didn't bother reading it all. It was all wrong anyway. There were a few pages dedicated to the killings in the library. Dean studied them carefully, but the PI wasn't looking for a ghost. He was looking for a killer. He had a list of suspects, ranging from the girlfriend of the first victim to the assistant librarian. All names had been crossed out, except for two at the bottom of the page.

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

It was no surprise of course. It still sucked. The names were surrounded by question marks. A second piece of paper was taped up beside it. 'Unknown factor' was written on top of the page. It was filled with question marks and words that had almost all been crossed out. A few things were still legible.

Hanging

No / invisible / ? / rope

Cold

Gunshot

Winchester???

The guy was trying to figure out what had happened in the library. And he was confused. That was understandable. Dean stepped back and looked at the wall again. The guy had missed his calling. He would have been a good hunter.

* * *

Sam stepped out of the car and stretched his back. Dean was _dead_. Well, metaphorically speaking of course.

The PI had stopped near and old warehouse on the outskirts of town. He had gone in without looking around. It smelled like a trap.

Sam hadn't failed to notice the PI looking in his rear-view mirror a few more times than necessary. He knew he was being followed.

Now what?

He didn't want to lose the guy, because Dean was still in the hotel room. But falling into the trap himself would be somewhat counterproductive. Slowly, he started walking to the corner of the building. At least he could keep an eye on the car, call Dean when the guy drove off.

He froze when the barrel of a gun poked his back.

"Sam Winchester," said a civilised voice. "What a pleasant surprise."

* * *

In case you are wondering, the tin can is my sisters' car. I just want to see if it survives. Karma being as it is, she will probably back it up into my car as soon as I get it back from the garage.


	7. Face the shadow

My sisters' car refused to start this morning… It's a good thing I don't plan on writing myself into my stories, I would probably be hit by a falling piano…

Anyway, for those of you still reading, enjoy!

* * *

_Face the shadow_

"Fielding," said Sam calmly. "You mind pointing that thing somewhere else?"

"I don't think so. There is a door to your left. Open it and go inside."

Sam didn't dare argue. The man was nervous as hell. There was a vague tremor in his voice and his trigger finger was probably very itchy.

The gun left his back as he turned to open the door, but he could still feet the man close behind him.

Slowly he walked into the empty warehouse, moving cautiously to make sure the PI had no reason to shoot. His mind was working overtime. He had to find a way out of this one. Preferably without giving the PI another reason to hunt his ass.

"Turn around, hands where I can see them."

Sam obeyed, still moving slowly. The PI was almost comically short. His hair was messy and he had dark shadows under his eyes. Deep bruises were visible around his neck. But despite his ragged appearance, his eyes and hands were steady. Only the slight edge in his voice betrayed how nervous he was.

"So," he said calmly, the tremor very well concealed. "You care to tell me what happened last night?"

* * *

Sid craned his neck to study Sam Winchesters face. God, the guy was tall. What he saw surprised him. He had two pictures of Sam. One was from the university database and it showed a serious young man, cautious and withdrawn. The other was his mug shot and it showed a criminal, nothing more and nothing less. With a scowl on his face and his eyes in the shadow he looked dangerous. That was the Sam he had expected to see here, but he was wrong. Sam looked back at him with vague curiosity. His face was neutral, a mask carefully hiding his thoughts. His eyes darted around the empty warehouse, to the door behind him, to the gun and back to Sid's face. And those eyes weren't hard and dangerous at all. They were _sad._

"Answer my question." Sid fought to keep his voice as steady as possible. Somehow it became easier. The man in front of him didn't look threatening at all.

"We saved your life."

Okay… That was unexpected.

"From who exactly?"

Sam smiled faintly. "Somehow I don't think you'll believe me."

"I consider myself to be a fairly open minded person."

A soft chuckle. "_Fairly_ probably won't be enough."

"Cut the crap! You were there. There was nobody else. What did you do to me?"

Sid saw his face harden. "I didn't do anything."

"Yeah, maybe it wasn't you." Sid took a deep breath to keep his nerves under control. Sam's face didn't look so calm anymore.

_I need a smoke._

"Maybe it was you brother. He's always the one with the violent tendencies."

Something flashed through Sam's eyes. Something that clearly said _don't go there._

"I just can't figure out how you guys did it. There was nobody in that office. There was no rope that I could feel…"

"Maybe it was a ghost."

"Does this seem like a bloody joke to you?" Sid shouted furiously. "You killed those people. Robert…" He took a deep breath. "You killed him."

"We didn't kill…"

* * *

Sam didn't finish that sentence. He was going to say 'anyone' but that wasn't really true.

"We didn't kill your friend," he said finally. "You have to believe me."

"Believe you?" The PI snorted. "I've seen your police file, smart-ass. I have seen what you are capable of and you expect me to believe you?"

Sam didn't say anything. What could he say? The police file is wrong? Yeah, that would go down well.

"I know all about you, Sam Winchester. I dug up all I could find about you and your family. It's quite an interesting story, I have to say. I have never seen anything like it."

Sam clenched his fists. The gun was still rock steady, pointing straight at his heart.

"It must have been tough, growing up like that. You daddy dragging you all around the country for his 'work'. But you had a way out, Sam. You went to college. Full ride and everything. You could have had a life, a career. I didn't understand why you would give that up. That is, until I noticed something in you file."

Sam felt his nails digging into his palms. Anger was slowly growing in his chest.

"What's that?" he said in a low voice. The PI flinched a little, his hands closing a little tighter around the gun.

* * *

Sid nervously adjusted his grip on the gun. Sam was staring down on him, his fists clenched tightly and his eyes hard and cold. While the man had seemed relatively harmless a minute ago, he seemed ready to explode right now. The Sam he had just seen was the Sam Professor Francis had known. That Sam was quiet and calm, but with his enormous posture imposing enough as it was. _This _Sam was terrifying.

"I… eh…" He saw Sam straighten his shoulders a little. It took some effort to make sure his gun stayed still. "Your mother died when you were a baby, didn't she?"

Sam didn't react. Didn't move. But his eyes grew even colder.

"The fire department claimed it was an electrical short in the ceiling, but they weren't sure. All they knew is that it wasn't arson. There was no accelerant."

Sid carefully raised his left hand from the gun and started groping through his pocket.

_I need a cigarette._

"And four years ago, your girlfriend died in exactly the same way. Fire started on the ceiling, no arson. And curiously enough, they found traces of sulphur at both crime scenes. A little too much of a coincidence I dare say."

"Shut up," Sam's voice was low. A warning.

"Hitting a little close to the mark, am I?"

_Where is that bloody cigarette?_

He searched through his pocket, his gun and his eyes still on Sam.

"My guess is that you followed in your father's footsteps. He killed his wife, you killed lovely little Jessica. She was pretty by the way, I've seen her picture."

Sam's face grew a shade paler. He was trembling with rage.

Sid fought the desire to step back. His fingers closed around the stray cigarette.

_Finally._

Or maybe your father did it, or Dean. They wanted you back and she was in the way. Poor girl."  
He put the cigarette between his lips and pulled out his lighter. For a split second, he averted his eyes to light his smoke.

Sam jumped forward and slammed the gun away. In a reflex, Sid pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the empty warehouse. Before he had time to think, he was on his back on the floor, Sam's face just inches from his own. A heavy forearm pushed hard against his throat.

"Shut up!" Sam hissed in his ear. "I didn't kill her. I didn't kill your friend. You have no idea what is going on. None. And you can't talk about my family like that."

Sam leaned down a little harder. "Who are you working for?"

Sid glared at him to the best of his abilities. The face leaning over him was distorted with anger. The arm against his throat was easily capable of breaking his neck. Sam was huge, he was strong, he was pissed, he was frightening as hell, but John Sidney Fielding did_ not_ beg. Ever.

"Like I would tell you."

"I didn't really expect you to. I'll figure it out somehow. See, I know a thing or two about you as well. I know who you are and what you are capable of. But in this case, you are out of your league." Sam leaned down a little more. "Take one thing from me. If you don't want to die, stay away from the library."

With these words, he yanked Sid's head up and smashed it hard onto the concrete floor. Just before the world grew dark, he saw his cigarette roll away into the shadows. A small splash of blood stained the concrete beside his face.


	8. To pieces

Karma just keeps following me around it seems… I slipped on a patch of ice a few days ago and sprained my hand. I am typing at half-speed now and it's incredibly frustrating. It took me a little longer than anticipated, but here is the next chapter. Hope you like it!

* * *

_To__ pieces_

"Sam, where the hell are you?"

"I'm on my way to you."

Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam sounded off. Way off.

"Where's the PI?"

"Unconscious of the floor of a warehouse."

_Okay…_

"You…eh…want to tell me how that happened?"

"I'll tell you when I get back, it's a long story."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Hey listen, I checked us into a different motel incase that PI dude knows where we're staying. It's on main street, room number fifteen."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

Dean snapped his phone shut and stared into space. Something had happened. Something bad. He could hear it in his brother's voice. And it probably meant that they were now really at war with PI dude. The guy was bad news. With all the information he had it was a miracle he hadn't ran of to the feds already.

And beside that, they still had nothing on the library ghost. Which meant there was no prospect of leaving Palo Alto any time soon.

The whole situation just sucked.

Dean turned his attention back to the laptop on the table in front of him. He had already dug up all information on the library and the land it was built on and there was no reason for a ghost to be there. Nothing bad or tragic had ever happened there. Which meant that the ghost was probably attached to something in that office. Which in turn pointed to the professor who had worked in the office, but the guy was still nowhere to be found. Dean rubbed his forehead. He could only hope Sam still had ideas, otherwise they were well and truly stuck.

* * *

"Sid! What on earth happened to you?"

Professor Francis grabbed the PI by the elbow and helped him through the door.

"Sam Winchester happened to me," said the PI through clenched teeth.

"He did this to you?"

"Yeah. The guy has a temper, I can tell you that."

Professor Francis led him into the living room and guided him to a comfortable armchair. "Sit down. Do you want me to take you to a doctor?"

Sid tiredly rubbed a hand over his face. "I'll be fine. It's not the first time I was hit on my head."

Professor Francis say down on the very edge of the couch. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"If you get me a drink first. Whiskey, if you have it."

The professor practically ran to the kitchen. The PI looked terrible. He was ghostly pale, with deep black bruises around his neck and dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like he could really use that whiskey.

When he returned to the living room, Sid was nervously rolling a cigarette between his fingers. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Go right ahead." Professor Francis put the glass down on the coffee table and took his place on the couch again.

Sid lit up his cigarette and picked up the glass with trembling fingers.

"I…ah… I met Sam Winchester."

"So I gather. What happened?"

"He was following me. I was on my way here, but when I spotted him I led him to an empty warehouse just outside of town. I caught him of guard and tried to ask him a few questions, but he went berserk. Kicked my gun out of my hand and knocked me out."

"What about your neck? Did he do that too?"

"Yes… no… Well, I think he did, but not today. I followed them to the library yesterday and I was attacked from behind. I didn't see who it was." The PI looked up. "I think he and his brother are responsible for the killings in the library. I think he killed Robert."

Professor Francis slowly leaned back on the sofa. _I should have poured myself a whiskey as well…_

"Are you sure?"

"He practically told me so. He said I had to stay away from the library if I didn't want to die."

Sid stared at the carpet. "It was strange though. When I asked him about the library, he was completely calm. Controlled. But when I talked about his family and his girlfriend he just flipped out on me."

Professor Francis rubbed a hand over his face. Sam… How could he have been so wrong about the kid? He killed Robert… He was a murderer. A cold blooded killer.

"Sid, we need to call the police."

The PI shook his head. "Not yet. I don't have a shred of proof." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I need to call the hospitals in the area."

"Why."

"There was blood on the ground when I woke up," said the PI while he dialed a number. "I didn't bleed. It was Sam's"

* * *

"What the hell…" Dean grabbed his brother's arm as he walked into the room. "Did he do this?"

"I'm fine," muttered Sam and he pulled his arm away. "It's just a scratch. He came of a lot worse, trust me."

He sat down on one of the beds and slowly started rolling up his bloodstained sleeve.

Dean pulled the first-aid kit from his duffle and dropped it onto the bed beside his brother. "Care to tell me what happened?"

"The guy spotted me. He led me to a warehouse outside of town and pulled a gun on me."

Sam hissed through his teeth when he pulled his sleeve away from the wound on his forearm.

"He spotted you? Looks like you are losing your touch Sam." Dean watched his brother fumble with the first-aid kit. "You need a hand with that?"

Sam dropped the kit back onto the bed and nodded, his eyed fixed on the carpet. Dean sat down on the bed beside him. "So, how did you get away?"

"I kicked the gun out of his hands and slammed his head against the floor."

"Just like that? Is that how you got hurt?"

Sam nodded to the carpet. "Yeah, he pulled the trigger when I kicked the gun away. The bullet grazed my arm."

Dean shook his head. "Jesus, Sam!" he said forcefully. "What are you, suicidal? He could have killed you!"

Sam didn't reply. He didn't even move. Dean grabbed his shoulder. "Come on, Sam! Talk to me."

"Look, I screwed up okay?" said Sam in a low voice. "Big time."

He sounded so defeated that Dean felt his anger die away instantly. He let go of his brother and picked up the first-aid kit. "Alright. I'll patch you up and you tell me what happened. Everything."

* * *

"There's nobody matching his description in any of the local hospitals." Sid stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "I called their motel as well. They checked out a couple of hours ago."

"Which means you have no idea where they are now."

"Exactly," Sid pulled another cigarette from the nearly empty pack and lit it up. _In need to quit smoking. As soon as this case is over._

"But I know where they are going to be."

"The library," muttered Professor Francis. "Sid, I think you should stay away from there."

"And why is that?"

"Because I don't want you to get yourself killed, that's why!"

"Look professor, I didn't get to where I am now by being a coward." Sid took a deep breath. "Robert has been my friend since college. I need to catch his killers. I am not going to back down now."

"But Sam said…"

"Sam is a bloodthirsty killer. He showed me his true colors today. He is a murderer. I…"

"Sid," Professor Francis held up his hands. "Just listen to me for a second."

Sid leaned back in his chair and pulled the smoke deep into his lungs. He carefully studied the man in front of him. Somehow, Professor Francis still thought of Sam as the clever young man he had known all those years ago. It was hard to convince him otherwise.

The Professor picked up the thick Winchester file from the table. "I was looking through this before you got here, and I noticed something odd. In all these crimes, these murders, there is no pattern. No logic. The killer didn't seem to have a goal or a purpose. That isn't like Sam at all. He was always very focused, with a clear goal in mind."

"I know you liked him." Sid tiredly ran a hand over his face. "But he is not like you thought he was."

"I understand that. It's just… I don't think Sam is the mastermind behind all this. I don't think he is your main concern."

Sid exhaled slowly. _Of course._

"Maybe you're right." He tapped the ash of his cigarette. "When I asked him what had happened in the library, he said he saved my life."

"Maybe he did. From his brother."

Sid stood up and started pacing the room. "But I don't get it. He was so defensive of his brother. He would barely let me say his name."

Professor Francis leaned back on the couch. "Well, they grew up in very close quarters, they moved around a lot. All they had was each other. Maybe he does love his brother in some twisted way. Even if he doesn't approve of what his brother likes to do."

Sid shook his head. "God, that family is screwed up."

* * *

"You told him _what?"_

Sam looked up, his eyes pleading. "I know I screwed up okay? It was stupid, I should have kept my mouth shut."

"Damn straight!" Dean stood up from the bed and started pacing the room. "You practically told him we are going to be at the library. I don't get it Sam. You throw yourself on a man who has a gun on you, and then you basically tell him where to find you. Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"No!" yelled Sam furiously. "But he…" he pressed his lips together and looked away. "I wasn't thinking. I just…"

"And what if he goes back into that office? That ghost is going to tear him apart!"

"I know!" Sam still didn't look up. "I was..."

"Yeah, you were pissed, I get that. So tell me Sam, what could he possibly say to make you lose it like that?"

Sam seemed to shrink a little. All of a sudden, he looked very young and very small.

"He said I killed Jessica." His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Dean inhaled sharply. His anger died away instantly. "God, Sam…"

Suddenly, he had no idea what to say to his brother. He slowly sat down on the other bed and looked at the worn carpet. It was a good thing the PI wasn't around, because Dean _really_ felt like ripping his head from his body.


	9. Tighten the noose

Merry Christmas everyone! Still typing like a tortoise, but I managed to get this done in good time. Enjoy!

* * *

_Tighten the noose_

"I think I found it."

"Finally." Dean shifted his chair until he was sitting next to his brother. "I was beginning to think this ghost was a figment of the imagination."

Sam moved his laptop around so Dean could look at the screen. "Two days before the first killing in the library, a man was found dead in a motel room, identity unknown. He hung himself from the ceiling fan. His description matches the missing professor."

"Great. So, professor dude is dead, he is haunting his old office. We burn the bones, ghost is gone. Easy as pie."

Sam looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Is it ever that simple?"

Dean sighed. "Well, there's a first time for everything. What's the problem?"

"Two problems actually. One, he didn't die in Palo Alto but in a small town two states over. And two, he was cremated."

"Nice," Dean pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "In that case, something must be keeping him in that office."

"Something he's attached to," muttered Sam.

Dean turned around to look at him. "You know what this means right?"

Sam exhaled slowly. "We have to go back there."

"Yep. And your friend is likely to be there as well."

"He's not my friend." Sam's tone was sharp. His eyes didn't leave the computer screen, but Dean could imagine his expression. He bit his tongue. _Keep your stupid mouth shut!_

He cleared his throat. "We'll have to be careful. That ghost is pretty damn aggressive."

"I know," Sam hesitated. "It's strange though. When we were in there the ghost didn't show itself at all, but it was on Fielding pretty quickly."

"Maybe it knows a dick when it sees one."

Dean picked up his jacket from the back of a chair. "Are you coming? Now is as good a time as any."

* * *

Sam carefully checked his gun before he tucked it onto the waistband of his jeans. With that PI somewhere around, he wasn't going anywhere without it.

He shook his head slightly. Right now it was time to focus on the ghost. Even if that guy was around, they could take him easily between the two of them. It was time to get his head back into the hunt.

He took his shotgun from the trunk and picked up a handful of salt rounds.

"Ready?" asked Dean quietly beside him.

"As I'll ever be."

Sam turned around as Dean closed the trunk. The building in front of him was so familiar. He knew every corridor, every stairway. Four years, he had spent as much time there as in his own bed. He had seen many libraries on the inside since, but none of them were quite like this one. It reminded him of so many things. Things that ripped a hole in his heart just thinking about them.

But right now, it was a hunt. No more, no less.

He scanned the dark street one last time. No sigh of the PI, or anyone else for that matter. Time to get started.

They quietly crossed the street to the rear entrance of the library. Taking the front door again would be a little too reckless. Sam made quick work of the lock, and together, they made their way inside.  
Sam led the way through the maze of corridors, up the back stairway and to the second floor office. Everything was calm and quiet. The police tape had been replaced, but other than that everything looked the same as they had left it. Sam gripped his shotgun tightly and reached for the doorknob with his other hand. He slowly eased the door open and slipped inside, his brother following close behind. The office was dusty and still. The dull furniture looked untouched.  
Without saying a word, Sam move to the cabinets in the back of the room, while Dean walked over to the desk. They had barely taken a step, when a familiar voice spoke near the door.

"I was hoping to find you here."

* * *

Sid held his gun tightly in his hand. The two Winchesters stared at him from the middle of the office. A flash of anger shot through Sam's eyes. Dean just looked at him with impatience. "Dude, do you have a death wish?" To double barreled shotguns pointed in his direction. Sid raised his own gun a little higher, the weapon heavy and familiar in his hand.

"Put the gun down smartass," said Dean calmly.

"I don't think so." Sid raised his arm and pointed the gun at Sam's forehead. "If you shoot me, I'll take your brother with me."

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. Sam just glared at him, his eyes livid. Those eyes were almost scarier than the shotguns.

"Put those down," Sid said firmly, his voice a lot more steady than he felt.

Sam was the first to move. He slowly lowered his shotgun to the ground, straightened up and took a step back. His legs brushed against the metal desk just behind him.

Immediately, the temperature in the room dropped. The air grew heavy and stale. Sid looked around in confusion. The brothers in front of him reacted almost simultaneously. Dean raised his shotgun and held it steady with both hands, his eyes darting around the office.  
Sam stepped foreward to pick up his shotgun again, completely ignoring the gun that was still pointing at his face. Sid wanted to shout a warning, but before he had said a word, Sam froze. Then, he was yanked backwards. Before Sid realised what was happening, Sam was hoisted up from the ground by and unseen fore, deep welts forming around his neck.

"Sam!" without sparing Sid another glance, Dean turned and fired his shotgun to a point somewhere above his brother. Nothing happened. Sam struggled in the air, his legs kicking and his hands clawing at his neck.

Sid dropped is gun and backed away.

_This is impossible..._

He barely noticed Dean running frantically to the desk. All he could see was Sam, hanging from _nothing_, his face slowly turning blue.

_It's not possible..._

Dean was shouting furiously. Curses, insults and God only knew what else. He was doing... something, but Sid had no eyes for him. He only saw Sam, dangling in the air like a grotesue puppet, unable to breath.

* * *

My apologies… I couldn't resist.


	10. Phantom of the night

Happy new year!

It's well past midnight as I'm typing this, but I didn't want to leave you on that evil cliff-hanger any longer. This was supposed to be up days ago, but things have been a little crazy around here. And I am once again reduced to five usable fingers, because my hand appears to be broken instead of just sprained…

Anyway… here is the next chapter, I'm off to bed!

* * *

_Phantom of the night_

…_somebody whispering the twenty-third psalm,_

_a dusty rifle in his trembling hands…_

The Eagles

Dean ran to the heavy metal desk. It had to be the desk, it had to be. The ghost hadn't shown itself until Sam had touched it… He threw his shotgun down and started tearing open the drawers. But they all came up empty and Sam was still kicking his legs two feet of the ground.

_Crap.._

"Come on, come on!"

It had to be _somewhere…_

Sam was still moving. But not quite as much as a minute ago…

Swearing violently, Dean yanked the drawers from the desk and threw them on the floor. Nothing fell out, but the last one landed on the ground with a very loud clunk. With a quick look at his brother, he picked it up again. Sam was barely moving, chocking without a sound, clawing at his neck with feeble fingers. The PI was still standing beside the door, his back against the wall and his mouth open wide.

_No help there…_

He forced himself to look down at the drawer in front of him. It was still empty.

Dean banged the metal drawer on the desk in frustration. He turned it upside down and threw it on the floor with all his strength. With a barely audible click, the bottom of the drawer came loose and a large stack of papers tumbled out.  
A loud shriek echoed through the office. Sam crashed bonelessly to the floor. Dean barely had time to react when a greyish figure appeared in front of him. The ghost grabbed his throat and squeezed with unnatural strength.

"That is _mine!_"

The spirit of professor Melvin Jennings bared his teeth. "_My_ work. Not theirs, not yours. It's _mine_."

Dean grabbed at the dead hand, the stack of papers scattering on the ground.

"You will pay," hissed the ghost in his ear.

Through the ringing in his ears, Dean thought he could hear another voice. Soft and pleading, like a prayer.

"…walk through the valley of the shadow of death…"

A gunshot rang out. The ghost shrieked and vanished in a shower of rock salt. Dean stumbled forward, gasping for air. With trembling fingers, he pulled his lighter from his pocket. Without looking up, he flicked it on and dropped it on the pile of papers. The spirit flickered briefly beside him, shrieking in horror. Then, it evaporated in red flames.

Dean leaned on the desk with both hands, panting heavily. "Sam?" he asked breathlessly. There was no answer. The only sound in the office was the whispered prayer, the words slurred.

Dean looked up. Sid Fielding was standing in the doorway, Dean's shotgun clutched in his shaking hands. He was mumbling, staring at the spot where the sprit had vanished. When Dean caught his eye, he froze. He dropped the shotgun on the floor and ran from the room. His footsteps echoing away through the empty library.

Dean tore his eyes away from the doorway.

"Sam!"

His brother was on the floor, still and pale as a corpse.

* * *

Sid ran as fast as his legs would carry him. After a while he realised he was still mumbling the only psalm he knew. Sam Winchester's voice was echoing through his head.

"We saved your life…"

"…I don't think you'll believe me..."

"…didn't do anything…"

"…maybe it was a ghost…"

A _ghost._

A freaking ghost.

A murdering, bloodthirsty, _real_ ghost.

It was impossible, it was insane. But it was _real_.

He sprinted away from the library towards the ugly green rental car. He was never going near the Winchester's again. Ever.

He started the car with trembling fingers.

_I need a smoke…_

He shook his head. _Scratch that, I need whisky._

* * *

"Sam!"

Dean gently turned his brother on his back. Sam's lips looked blue and his skin was ghostly white. Deep red rope marks were etched around his neck. Dean touched his face with trembling fingers and exhaled in relief when Sam's eyelids fluttered faintly.

"Sam? You with me?"

Sam twitched a little, his eyed still closed.

"I'll take that as a no."

Dean quickly looked around the office. It was a mess, but there was no time to clear anything up. That bloody PI had run of and there was no telling what he was up to. Even though the guy had saved them, Dean still didn't trust him at all. He knew too much. He could be calling the cops any minute.

He gently tapped his brother's face. "Hey Sammy, time to wake up. We have to get out of here."

"Mmm?"

Sam's eyed fluttered open and stared blearily at his face.

"Hey man, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Mmm…" Sam blinked a few times. Then he rolled to his side and started coughing violently.

Dean rubbed his shoulder. "Okay, no talking for a while. You think you can get up?"

Sam didn't answer, but he weakly pushed himself up a little. Dean pulled him to his feet and supported him until he had found his balance. Time to leave this godforsaken place. Hopefully for good this time.

* * *

Sid fumbled his key into the lock. Three whiskey's hadn't done anything to calm his nerves. Instead, they had made him light-headed and unsteady. Not very useful. He pushed the door to his hotel room open and flicked on the light. It took him a few seconds to comprehend what he was seeing. Sam Winchester was sitting on the bed, an icepack held against his throat. Dean was standing beside him, a gun pointed at Sid's face.

"You shouldn't drink and drive. You could hurt someone."

* * *

There you have it! It's a little shorter than the other chapters, but my hand is being a bore. Next chapter will be up before the end of the week and it will probably be the last. Tell me what you think!


	11. Dead bird flies forever

Last chapter finally up!  
Enjoy.

* * *

_Dead bird flies forever_

Sid stared uncomfortably into the barrel of the gun. It wasn't the first time he had been on the wrong end of one, but this time it was different. He had never seen anyone as calm and relaxed and as _comfortable_ with a weapon in his hand. Most people who carried guns needed them to make and impression. Usually, it was the gun that drew the attention. The gun that inspired fear. Not this time.

"Shut the door," said Dean calmly.

Sid did as he was told. The door clicked shut behind him. It felt like he was locking himself in with his executioner. Not fun.

He took a deep breath and raised his hands slightly, trying to look harmless. That wasn't too hard to be honest.

"Sit," said Dean, pointing to a chair carefully positioned in the middle of the room. Sid slowly shuffled over, careful not make any sudden movements. Though the guy really didn't look al that nervous, you could never be too careful.

Sam dumped his icepack on he bed and stood up, his throat a horrible shade of purple. "You know what," he said hoarsely. "We honestly don't know what to do with you."

"Likewise," muttered Sid. Sam ignored him and carefully walked around his chair. Sid forced himself to look straight ahead. _Don't show him you're afraid…_ Unfortunately, the whiskey betrayed him. He could feel himself shaking. Sam put his hands on the back of the chair and leaned forward. "I know you think we are murderers. I also know you saw that ghost in the library."

"The truth is, we didn't do any of that," said Dean, vaguely indicating the extensive research pinned to the walls. "It was all done by things like that ghost. Demons, shape shifters, you name it."

"And the grave digging?" It was out before he could stop himself. Damn alcohol…

Sam chuckled in his ear. "Aren't you the curious one. A little drunk as well I think."

"We don't exactly have time to explain everything," said Dean coolly. "The ghost is history, so we are getting out of here."

"But we still have to make sure you don't run to the police." Sam leaned in a little closer. "And I think there is only one way to make sure you leave us alone."

Sid swallowed, his hands shaking in his lap.

"But first things first," said Dean firmly. "Who are you working for?"

Sid remained silent. Never, ever rat out your employer. It was a lesson he had learned a long time ago.

Sam leaned in even closer, warm breath touching his ear. "Do you want to do this the easy or the hard way? Who sent you?"

Hard way, definitely. There was no way he was going to set two serial killers on the elderly professor.

Sam's hands softly touched his jacket. Sid closed his eyes. Waiting for pain that never came. Instead, long fingers carefully searched his pockets. After a few seconds, Sam straightened up and appeared in his line of sight.

_Crap._

Sam was holding his cell phone, his eyes on the screen.

"Last call is from R. Francis." He muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "Francis…" His eyes widened almost comically. "_Professor _R. Francis?" He studied Sid's face for a reaction. Sid really hoped there was nothing to read on his face, but once again the alcohol didn't do him any favors. "It is him, isn't is?" Sam shook his head slightly. "Unbelievable."

"You know him?" said Dean sharply.

Sam didn't answer. He was looking at the phone again. "A dozen calls in the last few days. It has to be our guy."

Dean nodded. "In that case our work here is done."

Sam tossed the cell phone on the bed and turned to Sid again. "There is only one way to convince you that we're telling the truth. We are going to let you go."

Sid inhaled sharply, not even trying to hide his surprise. Sam smiled faintly, the amusement never reaching his eyes. He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. "We're going to leave town," he said quietly while he walked around the chair again. He pulled Sid's hands back and cuffed him with experienced fingers. "In twelve hours I will call the police and tell them where you are. We will be long gone by then."

"Consider yourself lucky," said Dean. "The last time we did this we left the guy for three days."

"If you come after us, or try to find us in any way, we will have to get a little more… creative."

"So don't. Trust me, you really don't want to do that." Dean casually tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans. "Thanks for shooting the spook by the way. Before taking of like a girl that is."

Sam pulled something from his inside pocket and threw it on the bed beside the phone and the melting icepack. "You ready to go?"

"Yep." Dean threw the PI a wide grin. "Hope to never see you again."

"Likewise," muttered Sid as the door shut quietly behind him.

* * *

Professor Francis jerked up from an uneasy sleep. He blinked a few times to get his surroundings into focus. He was on the sofa in the living room, his phone in easy reach. Sid was supposed to call him the second he left the library. It was now two in the morning and he still hadn't called. Something was not right.

It took him a few seconds to realize what had woken him. The room was dark, but not so dark that he couldn't see the shadow standing a few feet away, eyes shining faintly. He jerked up, instinctively crawling away against the back of the sofa.

"Calm down," said the shadow. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

That voice… It was deeper, older. More weary somehow. But even after all those years he knew exactly who it belonged to.

"Sam?"

A small lamp flicked on. Professor Francis blinked against the sudden brightness. Sam was standing near the coffee table, the thick file in his hand. He was still in the shadows, the light ghosting over his face. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I really am, but I can't let you keep this."

Professor Francis slowly straightened up and studied the man before him. Sam was even taller than he remembered and definitely a lot more muscular. His hair was longer and quite messy, but the most startling difference was in his eyes. At Stanford, all those years ago, they had been bright and inquisitive. Now, they looked haunted.

"I'm not a killer," he said softly. He raised the file a little. "I know how all this looks, but I'm not. And neither is my brother."

"What happened to Sid?" asked Professor Francis softly.

Sam smiled faintly. "He's in his hotel room. We didn't hurt him."

"What about those people in the library?" Professor Francis forced himself to speak quietly, but his voice trembled a little. Sam's smile vanished.

"We didn't touch them. You have to believe me." His eyes were pleading now and somehow, despite all the hard evidence Sid had given him, it was hard to believe that the man standing in front of him could ever hurt anyone. But still… There were so many facts counting against him. He still hadn't forgotten the state Sid was in when he had turned up on his doorstep last night. "I'm sorry," he muttered, his hand sliding over to his phone.

"No. Professor, I…" Sam's voice croaked hoarsely and gave out. He stepped forward, the light touching his face. The professor couldn't help himself. He stared at his former student with his mouth wide open. Sam was ghostly pale, his eyes hollow and bloodshot. There were deep, purple bruises around his neck, already turning black. The skin was broken in several places and it looked painfully swollen.

Professor Francis closed his mouth abruptly. He had seen bruises like these before, though not nearly as bad. On Sid Fielding's neck.

"Your neck," he muttered. "Sid had bruises just like them. You…"

"We were attacked by the same…" Sam hesitated and tried to hide it with a muffled cough.

"He tried to kill you," muttered the professor. "The person responsible for those murders."

Sam nodded, his face once again hidden in the shadow.

"Then it wasn't you." Professor Francis sat up a little. "You weren't here to kill anyone, were you Sam? You were here to stop it."

"Yes," said Sam softly, his voice barely a whisper.

The professor stood up. "Look Sam, I don't know how you got yourself into this mess, but I can help. Sid too. We can clear your name. If we dig long enough we can find…"

"Thank you," said Sam hoarsely. "But you can't help me. Nobody can. The only thing you can do is keep quiet. Don't call the police. Don't tell anyone I was here. Forget I ever existed."

The professor stepped forward and put an hand on Sam's shoulder. "I don't think I can do that," he said. "I won't call the police, I promise. But I can't forget about you."

Sam closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "Thank you. For everything." he muttered. "I have to go. My brother is waiting for me."

"Good luck," said Professor Francis. "With… whatever you are doing."

Sam smiled ruefully. "It's a little late for that."

He turned away and walked out of the living room, closing the door with a quiet click. Professor Francis sat back down on the sofa and stared at the door. Outside, he could faintly hear the growl of a heavy engine disappearing into the night.

* * *

The drive was quiet. Dean kept his eyes on the road. Sam was staring ahead without seeing anything. He was fumbling with something, turning it over and over in his hands. Dean was surprised when he spoke.

"Hey Dean? What was on those papers you found in the desk?"

Dean threw him a quick look. "I didn't exactly have time to sit down and read it, Sam."

"But why did the ghost vanish when you burned them?"

Dean sighed. Sam was nothing if not persistent. "I don't really know for sure. But the ghost said it was his 'work'. I think it was some of his research. I doesn't explain why he was attached to it though. It doesn't exactly count as remains."

"Maybe it does," muttered Sam. "Maybe a part of his mind was in there. A part of himself, if you get my meaning."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "A part of himself? I think he took his work way too seriously."

Sam smiled. "Yeah, he probably did."

A silence fell. Rain tapped on the windows of the car. Dean watched the last buildings of Palo Alto fade in his rearview mirror. "So… the professor isn't going to rat us out?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Good." Dean stepped on the accelerator, the steering wheel vibrating under his hands. Between the town, the ghost, the PI and the snooping Professor, this had definitely been one of the most annoying hunts ever. He was eager to put as many miles between them and Palo Alto as he possibly could.

* * *

Sam fumbled with the engagement ring in his hands. There was a grave for Jessica somewhere, but there was nothing in it. There hadn't been much left to bury after the fire. There was no place he could really say goodbye to her.

There was so much he had to tell her. So many things he kept repeating to her in his dreams. But she would never hear how sorry he was. She would never see the engagement ring. And she would never know how much he had lover her. He closed his eyes, trying to remember her as he had before Lucifer had defiled his image of her. She smiled at him, her eyes warm. And somehow, he knew he didn't have to tell her anything.

She already knew.

* * *

Sid rubbed his sore wrists and stood up from the hard chair. It had taken him a good two hours to free himself from the handcuffs. Definitely not one of his better days. In those two hours, he had been trying to make sense of what had happened.

They had let him go. Just like that.

It was unbelievable.

There were so many things about the whole thing that he just couldn't get his head around. Two dead murderers who definitely weren't dead and quite possibly weren't murderers either. It just didn't make sense.

And then there was the ghost. And that made even less sense. He flopped down on the bed, his hand colliding with an unfamiliar object.

He quickly snatched it up.

It was a book. _Supernatural_, by Carver Edlund. He raised his eyebrows. What was he supposed to do with that?

* * *

**I got a little carried away with this chapter… I guess the muse wanted to end it with a bang. It is 1.30 in the morning as I am typing this and I am absolutely exhausted. But it just wouldn't leave me alone.**

**I've had a wonderful time with this story and I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you think!**

**Take care and until next time.**


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